


A World Apart

by hypnoshatesme



Series: Time Against Us [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ...i think this time it's really just that, Angst, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23426257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: Michael finally managed to find a way to speak to Gerry. Or rather, what's left of him.[Can be read as its own thing]
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Series: Time Against Us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685134
Comments: 18
Kudos: 90





	A World Apart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sort of epilogue/extra scene or ending for "Wrong and Right, and Perfect", but can be read as its own thing!

"You knew she'd do this.", Gerry said quietly. 

There was no accusation or anger in his voice. He didn't blame Michael. He had watched many times as it writhed and suffered trying to be honest with Gerry, trying to do something right. Gerry knew it couldn't have stopped her. It was simply a statement, something to say into the silence that had stretched on since Michael appeared through a door that hadn't been there before. 

It had warned Gerry, again and again, to not trust Gertrude. Gerry had watched it struggle and bleed, or at least that was the closest Gerry could call it, to bring those words over its lips. It had pained Gerry to watch it like that, and he had always been quick to assure Michael that he didn’t trust the archivist, not really. But obviously, it had already been too late. Gertrude had the skinbook already in her possession by the time Michael came to find Gerry. Of course, he had never imagined Gertrude would ended up using it on him. He thought she had destroyed the whole book, not just his mother’s page. It had obviously been too much trust.

"Not...specifically. I knew..I knew she'd do....something.”, Michael faught to spit out the words, face contorting in that familiar pain Gerry remembered so well. 

It looked exactly as he remembered and utterly different at the same time, which Gerry had long since accepted as typical for Michael. Still, Gerry forced himself to look closely, try and take every movement on that face in, try and remember it. 

He wanted to remember it as closely as he could. It felt wrong, to be able to look at it so intensely without his head buzzing, his eyes straining. Odd and wrong and Gerry felt his throat tighten.

Michael managed to continue after a moment of struggle, “She doesn't…”, it swallowed, and Gerry wondered if that was still a remnant of the human Michael. 

Gerry had wondered a lot, about how much was still there. Not that it mattered. He’d never know. 

“Gertrude”, it said, voice full of venom and Gerry remembered the fury in its eyes whenever that name had been mentioned, how it had made Gerry want to step back from the intensity of the hate radiating from it. 

Gerry didn’t feel it now, and even that, he found himself missing. He saw in its eyes and face and every muscle, or what went for muscle, of its body the searing hatred, he saw it and knew it must be there, like waves suffocating you if you stand too close. Gerry wanted to stand too close. Gerry wanted to feel it.

“She never let's... assistants. Go to waste." He said it, and the disgust in its voice could have been for Gertrude or the fact that it was saying something so honest. 

Gerry thought it might be both. He wanted to pull it into a hug and tell it it’s alright and that she can’t do more harm. But she had, and Gerry is starting to understand the venom and disgust always lacing Michael’s voice whenever the archivist was a topic.

"I tried stopping her. I really did I…", it wavered, and there was something else in its features besides the pain. Sadness. Frustration. 

It looked devastated and Gerry hated that, just as when he lay dying and Michael had been crying, he couldn’t comfort it, couldn’t reach out. Well, he could, now. His limbs weren’t numb anymore, but he knew the touch would drive home his lack of proper body painfully, to himself and to Michael. He balled his hands into fists where his arms were crossed in front of his chest. He didn’t feel it.

Gerry finally found his voice again, but it came out as a ghostly whisper. It never did sound quite right anymore, "Its fine. Don’t...hurt yourself." Gerry whispered. 

Nothing was fine. The pain was searing, constant. Gerry had never imagined he could hurt so much without a body. Or with one. It was like nothing he'd felt before, and Gerry had felt a lot of different kinds of pain. This had been beyond his imagination. Even know, as it became the only constant sensation that felt real, he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. This was so much worse than anything. Just like Michael had said it would be. In fact, it was shockingly accurate to its warnings and Gerry had, when he had stopped screaming, when the pain had settled into his new existence as a constant, no longer new, although never ceasing, wondered. It wasn’t something knew, he had found himself wondering about how Michael might feel in its new existence. Though usually, his thoughts about that had been focused on Michael Shelley exclusively. Not anymore. Gerry now knew the pain that came from being something that isn’t and shouldn’t.

"Michael? Do you...hurt like this?", Gerry brought himself to ask. It could very well be his last chance to do so. It hadn’t been easy for Michael to get to him, he knew.

Michael took a moment before answering, still busy trying to make out every familiar detail of Gerry’s face, the curve of his neck, the graceful fingers, all frustingly hidden in fists now. It was difficult, with him being see through. Frustrating. The colours were all wrong. Michael's fingers twitches with the urge to touch him, embrace him. It knew it would feel nothing and that frightened it. Gerry was there but he really wasn't. Not like Michael but not unlike it either. 

"Probably", came the answer because Michael didn't actually know the exact pain Gerry was experiencing. 

It didn’t know its own either, sometimes. Pain was always there but also not there at the same time. The closer Michael shifted into existence the more it hurt. Speaking truths, doing right. In a way, its feelings for Gerry had made it worse. Being with him had. Michael bore with it, the pain dulled by the overwhelming warmth it had felt. Michael remembered warmth, and it was sure it was its own memory, not Michael’s. His memories always hurt. But now Michael was still hurting from remembering the warmth that had been its own. It flinched.

Gerry took a step forward, hands outstretched like he wanted to reach out to Michael. He froze though, folding his arms in front of his chest again and Michael shattered into many, many pieces. It hurt to keep his form together. Something wet was running down its face. It had never wanted anything more than to let Gerry touch it right now. Wanting hurt. But not as much as it would hurt to be reminded of Gerry’s non-existence by his touch being simply wrong. And Michael knew it would be. So did Gerry. He looked up at Michael, helpless and frustrated, and Michael admired the arch of his neck as he did. It looked so very close to how it used to and Michael felt the tingle to reach out and trace the eye on his throat the way it had used to do. Michael folded its arms in front of its chest, too, hands too long, fingers too sharp. It didn’t fit and had Gerry still been corporal, the picture in front of him would have been unnerving.

"I'm sorry", Gerry whispered and Michael frowned.

"You didn't do anything"

Gerry brought his hand up to run it through hair that didn’t yield at the touch anymore. It was a habit, too deep to be erased by death, "I...never asked.", he mumbled and Michael wondered at how human he still sounded. It hurt.

"I wouldn't have told you.", it whispered, voice on edge because it didn’t want Gerry to feel bad for anything. There had been nothing to feel guilty about in their time together, and Michael hoped he knew that.

Gerry looked at it, and even now his eyes were intense. Michael had wished for them to open again so badly. Now they were open, but a transparent bluish-white. Michael couldn’t remember the exact shade they had been in life anymore. It had wasted so much time not looking into those eyes.

Gerry sighed, "I guess...I wouldn't have understood"

"I wish you still wouldn't.", Michael’s answer came quick, voice pained, and Gerry had given up trying to decipher whether the suffering came from it speaking truths or from the overall situation. 

He feared it was a mixture of both.

Silence fell between them as they looked, took the other in, both in their own thoughts, thoughts that were surprisingly similar for beings so different. Wanting and wishing and an overwhelming, choking amount of helplessness.

"They'll be back soon.", Gerry gently offered, because his life - he scroffed - his _unlife_ had been a strict routine until now, and he could feel, without needing a clock, when they would come back to read his page, to ask their questions. 

Like he was but an unfeeling book, a convenient encyclopedia at their disposal, to be used. He hated it. Sometimes he thought he hated it more than the pain.

Michael stumbled over its words, so much like Michael Shelley had, it made Gerry smile a thin, small smile. It seemed so human, sometimes, "I c-can't burn the page myself. I will...I will try to..."

"Its okay, Michael. I...I'll figure something out."

They were both making impossible promises, they knew. But for now Michael gave a watery smile and Gerry returned it with his own shaky one. A door appeared as steps approached. Both wanted to breach the gap, to kiss or hug as they used to for goodbyes. It wasn't possible anymore so Gerry nodded, smiling through the pain that made him want to scream every moment of existence. Michael smiled through its own agony, pain it couldn’t even place the source of anymore. It opened the door and after one last lingering look, it stepped through. Gerry watched it close the door behind it. He felt empty. He was empty in a much more literal sense. Steps were close. He dissolved into whisp of air.


End file.
